Ever since the war each day is the same. Wake up and eat our peas and carrots, cooked by our mum, bland and tasteless as always. Read our newspapers, that were always a week out of date, and watch the news, which dad always seemed to have criticisms of. The most enjoyable days were when we sat together and opened our letters — even with the postman at times.
The intervention of the ‘Midlands Zone’ changed us. Father and brother left without a sign and mother’s health is slowly deteriorating and she is growing old. Did you have to leave? The tales of flames and ruins are exciting, I worry for you, following brother’s passing your letters became more violent and the flames turned into damnation. Father was a positive man, the community admired his supply of wood during cold winters, the youth treated him as a celebrity. The youth have grown old now and that celebrity has disappeared.
The postman had no letters for me today. Everyday. Why did you stop writing? The news reports the invasion of damnation is victorious, but the postman has vanished. The best we can do is pray that this is over, though I am not religious. How many attacks on inferno have there been?
The photographs are gone. His face blackened and set ablaze. Mother stands by the bonfire surrounded by smoke and tears. You cannot erase a memory from existence, she ignores me and turns her back against the blaze. Smiling.
No one saw that smile, now becoming dark void. The peas and carrots, news and newspapers aren’t the same anymore — singing their melodic song of lies. Now they’re greeting her at the gates of hell to work on the factory floor. Constructing weapons and equipment for sixty hours a week. I fear for her. I never saw the pain in your smile, and if you read this, don’t worry about us. I couldn’t be the son you wanted, it’s my fault, when this chaos is over let’s meet like good times.
Another funeral. Hungry and tired. Damnation and redemption call me, but I have no interest in them.
“Pick a side you coward.”
“How can I choose a side when they’re both the same?”
“Pick a side. You’re old enough.”
“Hell or Heaven. East or West.”
Do you remember the colours, the people, the pictures, the emotions of love and happiness? There isn’t anyone left to remember. Only the corpses of skeletons. Those who looked at me with sympathy now glare at me with rage. I’m no criminal or murderer, why do you give me murderous looks? People keep disappearing and I wonder when it’s my turn to disappear.
The postman came back today. The limping, one armed postman. He had a letter for me. Giving it to me with sympathetic looks, I felt the coldness radiating from the letter. Together we peeled open the brown paper. The same letter brother and father received. Calling me to the ‘Londinium zone’. Still no letter from dad but I might finally see him again.
Line up and get in line. Man behind man and weapon in hand. Damnation greets me with a bloodied fiery smile. Why are we here? Not defending or attacking. Only a deafening silence. Dull and lifeless, just like home, no sign of dad yet. Carrots and peas, even potatoes too, the usual flavourless feeling. The mice seem to enjoy it.
Our battlefield is our home. Don’t tell mother I am on this battlefield. My letters to her are full of lies and my letters to dad haven’t been responded to in years.
We are going home by Christmas — the colonel tells us. Where is home? I admire the iron-willed man, but he has the same dreary expression as us, the fear of the unknown. He says we’re going to attack Londinium tomorrow. Damnation is hungry, I can feel it.
I woke to the burning of the night. Screams muffled by the screaming bursts of the firestorm. I see no enemy, only inferno. The colonel orders us to attack the flames. The military band plays as man after man charge over the muddy hills with their bibles and broken twigs, smothering the fire with their bodies. They hug death thinking their tears can save them. I can’t save you. Hopelessly watching friends accept their fate.
I sit on the scorched Earth surrounded by a sad blackened landscape and the foul smell of charred wood. A dark layer envelops the sky protecting the stars from the depressing sight below. The trees topple like dominoes, becoming ash and helpless. Every sign of life is gone. Hearing the last eagle screech and come splatting against the ground. The Earth is bleeding.
My rations are running low. Corpses all around me. Nobody in sight. Legs are broken. The fire surrounds me. I am no coward; I will go down smiling. The flames loom closer as my smile is being burnt off. The heat is unbearable. My skin is being peeled off in unison with my uniform melting. I can’t feel pain or my body anymore, my muscles won’t move. Was I on the good side? It doesn’t matter I am going to die. The delicious smell of cooked meat combats the smoke in the air, I can almost taste it.
One last supper, there is mother, father and my brother all huddled around me. With their bright smiles, knives and forks, they carve chunks out of me one at a time. They talk of their days at work, dad bought a new car, brother got a new job and mum is wearing a white rose dress. I am finally home and I don’t want to die, but It’s all in my head. The military band plays to their lullabies, the trumpets and drums boom. Their songs begin to die out, they give me a warm hug as I rest my head on the ground below as the burning clock tower comes crashing down beside me.
Dhanyaal Samir